


Portrait of a Bad 'Un

by GrrraceUnderfire



Category: Hogan's Heroes (TV 1965)
Genre: Gen, Poetry, Prisoner of War, Self Confidence Issues, Stalag 13, Stuttering, Stuttering Peter Newkirk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-24 03:29:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23003212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrrraceUnderfire/pseuds/GrrraceUnderfire
Summary: He's tough on the outside, but inside Newkirk is all self-doubt. My first poem for fanfiction.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 7





	Portrait of a Bad 'Un

From scruffy boy to wily man,

From slight of frame to sleight of hand,

He's grown up doing the best he can.

He's sure his mates can't understand.

Can't understand the struggle inside,

Words trip him up, deflate his pride.

He wishes that his words would glide

Past stammer that he can't abide.

Past fears he is intent to hide.

He's learned to hide, connive, deceive

To sneak, to cheat, and how to thieve

His heart is kind, but who'd believe

A ruddy con man could perceive

What's right and wrong? They're not naïve.

He was naive once. Then he sussed

He'd best be tough; the world's not just.

Finding food? That was a must.

He stole, and yes, he felt disgust

For being someone none could trust.

Trust him to cheat at cards and make

His mates all think that he's a snake

When deep inside his heart could break.

He wants their friendship but the ache

Of losing's more than he can take.

Losing at cards? He doesn't care.

He knows he could win fair and square.

He cheats because he's well aware

That some lads haven't got a prayer

Of winning unless he is there.

But winning friends? He can't be sure

They'll stick by him and will endure

His temper, rudeness and much more.

They're nice; he's not. Their hearts are pure.

He's a bad 'un and there's no cure.

He wants their nod; he's insecure.

He snipes and snarls and disagrees.

He stammers out apologies.

He sulks and skulks away, quite cross.

He wanders back home, looking lost.

He hangs his head. A cup of tea

Materializes. "What, for me?"

A smile, a nod, pat on the back.

His friends don't care what he might lack.

They know he does the best he can.

His mates are true. They understand.


End file.
